Tangodurians

Interesting analogy albeit a bit crude. But that's really it isn't it? Finding the voice of the follower in a very male led dance. http://alextangofuego.blogspot.sg/2007/09/fuck-me-back.html The longer I develop in it, the more I see parallels. Tango reminds me much of the cycle of life, we start out totally dependent on someone, find our own footing and grounding and then revert back to the basics once again. Sitting in a table with family, at twelve o clock sat the senior ladies chattering about old times and anything and everything and at six o clock sat the under 10's, playing rock paper scissors and making a racket. There we were, somewhere in between, literally and figuratively. Flashback to the two leads I had, one a complete mess, footwork all over the place, charting his own territory (in a not very good way) and obviously he could be dancing with a puppet the way he was dancing. I didn't need to be there. The other, strong, powerful, musical, but the

Yo me cegué en tus ojazos I was blinded by your big ey es y fui a caer en tus brazos. and I landed in your arms Y entre tus brazos yo fui feliz, And in your arms I was happy porque te amé con delirio. Because I loved you with a delirium Yo fui a caer en tus brazos I went to fall into your arms y así llegué hasta el martirio; And so I found my torment te juro que enloquecí, I swear I went crazy cuando por dentro me vi, When I saw inside me y comprendí lo que hacía. And I realised what I was doing Quiero mirar hacia Dios, I want to look towards God aunque me muerda el dolor, Even if the pain bites me aunque me cueste morir. Even if dying is difficult Por quererte llegué hasta el martirio, For love I found my torment cuando vi que mi casa dejaba When I saw that I was leaving my home y, aunque mi alma en tus brazos quedaba, And though my soul remained in your arms te dejé, que es igual que morir.  I left you, which is the same as to die ¡Cómo duele en la carne

A familiar cock of the head, an eyebrow twitch and the same calm register of voices tinged with the little awkwardness that once conjured up so many emotions for me, and still does at its memories. It hurts sometimes, it really does. But I guess that's life right? You live and you let live. Tango oh tango. Getting irritated that I'm not progressing anymore, but guess that's the challenge of this (goddamn) dance. Doppelgangers. Urgh. Bad for me, yeah probably. But tonight, I shut my eyes and snuggled in, and I did not give a damn. Conversations with lovely old gentlemen who can turn on the charm at a switch of a button, I think it just really does come with age! Never found one I didn't like :).

Where is your Tango home? Where is the place where you walk in and immediately everyone greets you. You take your seat, air kisses all around, ask the one who's been to Buenos Aires, Dubai, Shanghai or Bali how it's going, what did they see, what did they learn. You hear the strains of your favourite melody and catch the eye of the dancer you always dance this orchestra with. He twitches his head in the direction of the dancefloor and you can barely get your shoes on before running onto the floor before that first song finishes. Home. Your Tango Home. Or the origins in a dusty floored classroom, a packed dance floor. The salsa guy trying tango in front of you and you, trying to figure out where to put this damn left hand of yours. On the bicep? Behind the back? Owch, he just stepped on your toes. The arguments over the latest basic sequence you just learnt-"you have to place me here so that the cross happens automatically, signal like that...or maybe it was the othe